#so here's a lil drabble

[yeyinde]

Been on something lately with Price + someone more reserved/avoidant when it comes to sex.

Someone who doesn't have any real, tangible desire for intimacy. Romance. Outside of a few summers spent rutting against their pillow, chasing the spiralling ends of a hazy daydream with their fingers stuffed inside their panties, chanting be normal, this is normal, you want this in their head as they think of vague shapes, shadowed anatomy; a featureless silhouette rutting between their thighs, they just don't have that drive to pursue something like this.

And it's over drinks when it comes out (too many, of course; but Price has this way of needling under your skin, patronising you with just a shallow lift of his brow whenever you order water: a sly, subtle challenge in blue, one you feel obligated to meet—). Tipsy, loose lipped, you confess that you just don't really get the appeal. It's fine, you whine, fingers tapping out an off-rhythm beat on the worn wood. When it's just fantasy, but the idea of it, of sex and romance and everything else that comes after is a little too much.

A shame, he says, but he listens. Takes in your words with a gruff counter of his own, volleying back his own desires until they swallow yours whole.

And when he finds out you never really learned how to touch yourself—something he finds truly sad, detestable, really—he takes it upon himself to teach you the wonders of it. Of sex.

(with him. Only him, of course. Because you not wanting to fuck anyone else is perfectly fine. Great, even. But not wanting to fuck him? Well. He'll fix that character flaw with his own hand.)

He takes you home. Drunk little thing. Can't even handle your liquour, mm? He's really gotta do everything for you, doesn't he? But you go willingly, stumbling after him like a little puppy until he pulls you down on his lap, back flush against his broad chest, and slips his hand down your pants. Shush, don't worry, doll. Just relax. He'll show you what you're missing out on.

Bullies desire, want, into you with the rough slide of his hand, cooing mockingly in your ear when your body reacts to his touch. See? told you you'd get nice and wet for me, mm? Now, let's make this pretty pussy cum, love. Shush, don't fight it. Just give in. That's a good girl—

He sees you as something he can mould. Break. Tame.

A pretty project to force into the role he wants with every fibre of his being: a wife. In the truest sense of the word too because as much as he wants an adorable little mantelpiece to put behind stained glass, worship when it's convenient for him to do so, he wants someone to mould their existence around him. Soft edges to his harder ones. Kisses on his forehead before he leaves for work. Dinner on the table when he gets home. Knees locked tight to your ears, waiting for his cock every night.

And you're the perfect fit for the role, aren't you? Sweet girl. Just needed a firmer hand, didn't you? Someone to tell you what to do, what you need.

There's nothing wrong with you, he says, slipping his thick fingers through your swollen, wet folds, pads tight against your sopping, pulsing hole. It's more cum than slick that leaks out of you now, and he hums around an exhale when he pushes it back in, feeling the way your body responds. Fluttering, flexing, trying to pull him in deeper. Reacting to his touch perfectly.

Like you were made for him—

"Jus' needed me to come along and give you what you needed, mm? Don't worry, I'll take care of you from now on."

[angelpuns]

Lil Hater Au Prequel Blurb:

Leo stormed through the lair, trying his hardest not to look incredibly worried. He rushed past the living room, a sound of general confusion following him. He didn't bother looking back, he thinks by how deep the voice was it must have been Raph. 

He didn't have time to stop and he didn't have time to explain. He hurried to his room, huffing at the effort it took to slide his doors open. He needed to make a mental note to ask Donnie to oil it. Or he could himself. Whatever, he probably wouldn't remember regardless. 

Leo leaned his crutches against the wall and hurried to pull his gear on. Wraps, pants, belt, knee brace. 

He struggled with the second one, but ultimately decided to wear it. He planned to be fighting, whether it was his friend or someone else, and he'd need the support.

Leo fumbled with the cool metal of his battle shell, cursing under his breath at all the time he was wasting. He needed to hurry! He wasn't gonna make it if he didn't hurry! He quickly pressed the button to adjust the pressure and did a little stretch to test it. Perfect as always. 

One sword was slotted into the holster on His back, the other held tight as he hurriedly reached for his crutches. 

He spotted Raph poking his head in the door just as he opened a portal, shooting his older brother a (hopefully) reassuring smile before stepping inside. 

He winced at the high pitched ring of electricity that always accompanied it, his cochlear quickly readjusting as he was transported to the back room of Run of the Mill. 

It was quiet back here, the voices of patrons far enough away that even he couldn't hear it. And just as he thought, Yuichi was standing with his hand on the back door’s handle. 

He had quickly turner at Leo’s arrival, a knowing scowl already on his face. 

“ Leo, I told you not to bother,” He huffed, turning to face him fully, “ nothing you say is gonna stop me.” 

Leo gave him a once-over. Yuichi was in his old Nexus gear, though it didn't seem to fit him well anymore. In personality or in size. 

“ What you're doing is idiotic. What if you take another hit to the head? Or you have a seizure?” Leo started, slotting his sword into its holster, “ you think those guys in the arena are gonna wait and make sure you're okay?”

Yuichi didn't answer, grimacing. He didn't meet Leo's eyes, hunching in on himself further. 

Leo swallowed. The thought of it had him tossing and turning most nights, new nightmares adding to an already startling collection. He didnt want to say it in case it became a reality. 

But how was he gonna get it through this fluffbrain's thick skull if he didn't voice It?

“ They'all kill you, Yuichi…” 

The words felt like glue in his mouth, sticking badly to his teeth. Like Leo was sentencing his friend to death with just that statement. 

“They won't! I'm… I'm not weak, Leo!” Yuichi fired back, letting out a sigh and letting his hands dall to his sides, fists clenching. 

He stood up a little straighter, eyes meeting Leo's for the first time since he'd gotten here. 

“ I have to do this. She has my sword, and I have no intention of letting her get away with keeping it for another day longer,” 

He turned to leave, Leo stumbling forward to reach out and grab his arm. It stopped him for a moment, and Leo seized the opportunity to squeeze a little tighter. 

“ Yui, come on, you're not this stupid. You know she won't give it up without a fight, “ He started. He never understood why Yuichi was always so serious about getting the sword back. Leo understood more than anyone about how it felt to lose a precious weapon, but it had never been worth his life. It had never meant making such a dogshit deal with the devil herself. 

“ Leo, let me go…” 

Yuichi pulled weakly at his arm, but Leo pulled him back a little, letting out a weak laugh. 

He was getting desperate. 

“ its just a sword, Cottontail! We can get another-”

Yuichi ripped his arm from Leo's grasp, the slider stumbling forward to catch himself at the sudden balance shift. 

Yuichi's face was shattered, tears threatening to spill and cheeks flush with anger. He bared his teeth for a second, words choked out UB angry hiss. 

“ it's not just a sword, Leo!” 

He let out a shuddery breath and quickly wiped his eyes, hand on the door handle again. 

“ you don't understand! I have to do this, I have to be the one to do this!” He opened the door, the roar of a crowd and the bright lights of the battle nexus arena suddenly flooding the dark, quiet backroom.with light and sound. 

Leo flinched at the adjustment in his tympana and grimaced, “ at least me me help you! I'm- I can help you!” 

“ NO!” Yuichi didn't even turn to look at him, “ I have to do this alone!” 

He stepped through the door, leaving it open behind him as he started through the long corridor leading out to the arena.  

Leo could only watch, heart in his throat. Whether that was because of the thudding of the arena past the door or because he as fucking terrified, he didn't know. He trued one last time, leaning and shouting through the door. 

“ YOU’RE GONNA DIE OUT THERE!” 

and in the last second before the door shut itself, he saw Yuichu turn with such a fearful look and lock eyes with him. 

He was scared. And Leo couldn't help him in the slightest. 

[spectralscathath]

Tour Guide to the Unexplained- A Gravity Falls Fanfiction

Chapter 1: Pines vs Gnomes

Stan and Ford didn't expect much when getting shipped up to Gravity Falls to stay with estranged family. Not gnomes, not a town full of secrets, and definitely not the Mystery Shack and their lying uncle who runs it. But with Ford's smarts and Stan's punching, there's no mystery they can't solve.

Ao3 Link

Stan didn't know what he expected of the old guy Shermie called their Grunkle Dipper, but it wasn't what they got. Ford closed the door to their new attic bedroom as Stan stood in the middle of the room, looking between the two beds. Not bunk beds. Nothing like home. 

The silence was thick, so Stan broke it with a laugh. "What a load a' hokey, whaddaya think, Sixer?"

He expected Ford to start laughing and making fun of all those stupid 'exhibits' in the tourist trap their grunkle called the Mystery Shack. Fake cursed stuff, fake monsters, and fake ghosts. Fake and fake and fake.

Ford wasn't laughing. He stomped past Stan and threw his backpack and duffel bag at one of the beds, immediately claiming the left side of the room for himself. 

Stan picked anxiously at the edge of his wrist brace, unsure what to do with himself as he stood in the middle of the room. "Sixer?"

" What , Stan?" Ford snapped, already climbing onto his bed and emptying out his stuff with less care than usual.

"Is this 'cuz I called it hokey? I know you like this stuff, Ford, but that's all definitely fake down there-"

"I hate it." Ford growled out, gripping his typewriter as he pulled it out of his backpack. Dad was never able to pawn it, so it became last year's birthday present. 

"You hate it?" 

"Yes! There's actual real anomalies and stuff out there- we saw the Jersey Devil for cryin' out loud- and he's making a big stupid joke outta it!" Ford's face went red with anger, six-fingered hands shaking. "Outta freaks!"

Stan got the jolt that he needed to move, scrambling up onto Ford's bed with him and shoving his shoulder against his twin's. "Kay then, let's go kick his butt about it."

"Stan!" Ford instantly looked stricken. "We can't do that!"

"Why not?" Stan punched his fist into his palm and winced at the twinge of pain in his bones. "He's made you feel bad so he gets the left hook. Them's the rules."

"He's an adult."

"Adult, schmadult-" Stan waved off. "Screw that-"

"And mom said you can't punch anyone for another week until you get the brace off."

"Then I'll kick him! Ka-pow!" Stan kicked his feet out in demonstration of his awesome fighting moves and Ford snorted, giving him a small shove. 

"He's twice your size, knucklehead."

"So we'll team up," Stan shoved him back. "Kings of New Jersey, right?"

"Kings of New Jersey," Ford repeated, already looking less mad. Sad. Smad. "We still can't fight an adult though."

"Sure we can! I'll trip him and you jump on his head when he's down-"

"Stanley," Ford rolled his eyes, but he was smiling, so that was a plus. That was Stan's job. They only ever had each other, and they only ever would, because neither of them would ever have any friends, but that didn't matter, and this was why. Things were always better when you had a twin to have your back. 

"Okay, okay. But he can't make us work here. He's got that cashier and that handyman guy, and he has to run tours, so we can just run off in the woods. It'll be fun, let's find Bigfoot."

"Do you think he'd be out here?" Ford's eyes lit up and he scrambled for his notepad and pencil, already scribbling a vague map of the area from his recollection of the trip from the bus stop, probably. Ford's brain was so cool, he had to be the smartest person in the history of ever. 

"Sure, it's forest-y." That was his thing, right?

"Then let's find Bigfoot." Ford grinned and hopped off the bed, flicking the collar of his jacket up like he was an adventurer. A real one, not the fake kind Grunkle Dipper dressed up as. 

"Bigfoot!" Stan jumped off and threw his fists in the air. "Let's go!"

"C'mon, Stanley, you gotta wear a jacket."

"Nah, sleeves are for nerds."

"Hey!" Ford punched his arm, grinning bright. "Don't call me a nerd, goober."

"Don't call me a goober, nerd!"Stan punched him back and ran out the door, past their grunkle's bedroom with its big 'no kids allowed' sign, and down the stairs, taking a big jump over the last two, nearly crashing into Dipper at the bottom.

"Whoa-" Dipper darted back, holding something behind his back. He was still dressed like some Indiana Jones rip-off, like he should be diving into old cities for gold but here he was, running a tourist trap. "You're in a rush, what's going on?"

"We're Bigfoot hunting!" Stan blurted out.

"Can it, Stan!" Ford ran down to join him and slapped a hand over his mouth. "We're gonna go exploring- EW, STANLEY!" He ripped his hand away as Stan finished licking his hand. 

Dipper stared at them before shrugging. "Yeah, I was the same at your age. Just don't go too far, alright? Oh- and hang up these signs, while you're out there." He pulled out a hammer and signs from behind his back and tossed them down. 

"What?" Stanley stuck out his tongue even as he caught the hammer, Ford fumbling the signs as they clattered on the carpet. Heh, and mom thought Stan needed to wear glasses more. Lame. "But we're exploring."

"Explorers have to mark their trail, don't they?" Dipper grinned and struck a pose, tipping his hat. "As this town's resident monster hunter, paranormal investigator, and Tour Guide to the Unexplained-" if Ford didn't hate it, Stan woulda applauded the showmanship- "I'd know."

Ford bent down to pick up the signs, grumbling under his breath. Dipper didn't hear, but Stan did. 'Faker' was accurate. 

Stan spoke over him to prevent either from getting in trouble. "We'll hang up the dumb signs."

"Yep." Dipper patted them both on the head as he walked by. Stanley tried to scrub his hair clean of the touch. What was that for? "Don't get too disappointed if you don't see Bigfoot today, alright? Gravity Falls is a pretty sleepy town. Be back by dinner!"

"We will!" Stan only lied a little, following Ford out through the gift shop, past Carla reading a music magazine behind the register, past Boyish Dan lifting boxes out of Dipper's beat-up old pick-up truck, the faded blue paint chipped and dented, and past the attached shed where Waddles Jr. took pictures with tourists.

Ford stopped at the edge of the trees, the signs gathered in his arms before he handed them to Stanley. "We'll show him. Let's find that Bigfoot."

"Yeah! Let's show this place how we do things in Jersey!"

#

Gnome bites really hurt. Were they venomous? Surely not, but maybe he should test their wounds for toxins? Even if there wasn't venom, there could be bacteria! Who knew what gnomes ate- and Ford bet they didn't even brush their teeth. "What if we get some magic gnome disease?"

"Uh- soup, I guess?" Stanley carried most of Ford's weight as they limped out of the woods, covered in twigs and dirt and a lot of scratches. "Mom always makes soup when we get sick."

"Yeah. Soup is a primitive but effective cure for ailments." But it wouldn't be Mom's soup out here. "Where did you even get that switchblade?" And how did Ford not know about it? Tying a knife to a possum was one thing when they were nine- but Stanley had a switchblade and Ford didn't know about it.

"Nicked it when we were packing." Stanley shrugged as if that wasn't the scariest thing Ford had heard and they just stumbled on gnomes making abduction plans. Didn't Stanley remember getting grounded for a whole summer? 

"But, Dad'll be so mad-" 

 "Dad won't notice." Right, with the renovations. With all the asbestos and lead paint the city was making him get rid of, a single switchblade might not be missed. He could see Stanley's logic, but he still wasn't sure. And it didn't answer his real question anyway.

"So… why did you take it?" 

"I dunno- in case of mountain lions? Or bears? Maybe there's wolves out here!" Stan grinned, a gap in his teeth. "And definitely for scaring gnomes. Did you see that guy's face?"

"Yeah," Ford laughed because it seemed like the right response, still uneasy. "I'm glad they didn't chase us too far. I wish we could have caught one though, just to show Dipper."

"Let's go do that tomorrow. They look pretty small, and pretty stupid, so you should figure out a trap easy." Stan gave him a friendly squeeze. They didn't hug so much anymore, Ford missed it. All part of growing up though, that's what this trip was about. Toughening up and becoming real men, dad said. Learning how to pull their weight instead of letting other people carry it. Speaking of-

"I think I can walk now." Ford pulled away and tested his foot. Still hurt a bit, but felt better. "Thanks, Stan."

"Hey, that's what I'm for, Poindexter," Stan grinned and reached into the back of his jeans. "And look! We didn't lose Grunkle Dipper's hammer either!"

"Yeah, and we found this too." Ford smiled and reached into his jacket, pulling out the diary they'd found. It was definitely a girl's diary, neon purple and covered in sparkles and puffy stickers that were peeling off and a painted-on shooting star that trailed rainbows. The big number 3 inside the star was what really held his attention. Were there other diaries? The writer's name was missing, and the pages stopped halfway through, and the scratch-and-sniff stickers on each page had lost their sniff, and the entries grew increasingly paranoid. He wondered where the writer was now. Were they the ones who left all those scratches on every tree around the Shack?

There were so many questions. He had to know more.

"Do you think that diary's right about 'Gravity Falls having a secret hidden dark side'?" Stan did a pitch perfect impression of Ford, spinning the hammer his hand and nearly dropping it on his sneakers.

"It was right about gnomes in the forest," Ford shrugged, flipping through. Some of the illustrations were wacky and cartoony, some were more realistic, some had googly eyes glued on, and all of them were the coolest things he'd ever seen. He liked the stickers too, some of them were cute, but he couldn't admit that. Stickers and cute things were for girls. 

"Are you gonna show Grunkle Dipper?" 

Ford hesitated, an inexplicable feeling of being watched settling right between his shoulders. He turned around, looking at the forest behind them and didn't see anything. 

Waddles Jr. oinked loudly from his pen, making Ford jump and Stanley laugh at him. Stupid pig. Why did Grunkle Dipper even have a pig? It was so big too, he thought pigs were supposed to be smaller.

No. He didn't want to tell Grunkle Dipper. Dipper wouldn't understand, he'd just use it to make more fake anomalies. He wouldn't believe it. He wouldn't believe Ford. He might even laugh at him for carrying around such a girly-looking book.

Ford put the diary back into his jacket and looked at Stan. "I don't want to tell him."

"Cool, super twin secret." Stan agreed immediately, holding up his braced hand. "High six?"

"High six," Ford smiled and gently tapped his palm against Stanley's, careful not to aggravate his healing wrist. Stan said it was a boxer's fracture, and he complained about it hurting after a boxing lesson, so it had to be. Stan was a good liar, way better than Ford ever could be, but after the Jersey Devil incident, he'd agreed to never lie to Ford again. 

The bell jingled as they entered the Mystery Shack, closed for the day and devoid of suckers for their Grunkle to swindle, Carla the cashier and Boyish Dan the handyman already gone home for the day. Just them and their Grunkle, the conman.

"Wow. What happened? You two look like you got in a fight with a- a wolverine? Or something?" Dipper stood up from where he sat behind the counter, his hat hanging over the register. Ford hadn't noticed the little tree pin on the hat's band before. 

"You should see the other guy." Stan slapped the hammer on the counter, following Ford towards the house section of the place. Ford didn't want to talk to their Grunkle, he just wanted to check his gnome bites and read the diary until his eyes fell out. 

"Uh- hey!" Dipper called after him, and they both stopped. Dad made sure they had manners, after all. Dipper cleared his throat, tapping his pen against his chin. "Listen- I know this was last minute, but I want you two to have a good summer. Tell you what: you can both pick something from the gift shop as a welcome present, on the house."

"Really?" Did he think he could bribe them into liking him?

"What's the catch?" Stan asked, instantly suspicious. Dad would never allow that. The only way he ever gave stock to them was as a birthday gift if he hadn't been able to sell it and didn't think anyone would ever buy it. They didn't get very many birthday gifts from him. Ford's typewriter had been the first in two years. 

"No take-backsies?" Dipper chewed the top of the pen- gross- and shrugged. "No swaps, how about it?"

"Deal!" Stan nodded and dove into the aisles, Ford following behind at a sedate pace. Just one thing? But there was so much choice, so much stuff that was weird for a gift shop to have. He could see socks, bookmarks, mystery gift bags, survival kits, all sorts of gemstones and crystals, weird runestones, keychains, power tools, snow globes, Waddles Jr. bobbleheads, question mark headbands, bottles of formaldehyde, fake cyclops skulls, baseball hats, postcards, toys, t-shirts, salt and pepper shakers, jars of fake body parts…

He stopped in front of the grappling hook box and stared at what was in the next basket, 'world's strongest magnets!!' emblazoned on the packaging. Seeing the two next to each other was like a localised lightning strike of inspiration, his brain sparking with an idea, a need to create. Not the grappling hook- too unsafe- but the general shape…

"Can I have these magnets?" He grabbed them and held them up to show Dipper. 

"That's a good choice," Dipper leaned over the counter to see. "Just don't aim them at your fillings and you should be fine."

"We don't have fillings." They were still losing all their milk teeth, after all. Dad said they wouldn't need to waste money on dentists until they had teeth worth losing. It was factually incorrect, but their father was not a man to argue with.

"Then you're good to go." Dipper smiled at him as Stan ran out from the aisles. "Whatcha got there, Stan?"

"Smoke bomb kit!" Stan yelled excitedly.

"Not like- brass knuckles?" Ford blinked in confusion. There were probably some for sale in this place. Stan was good at punching. 

"I'm gonna make smoke bombs!"

"Have fun with those." Dipper popped on his hat. "I'm gonna feed Waddles Jr., be ready for dinner in ten."

There was a moment where Ford wanted to tell him everything, that the gnomes were just outside the treeline, that they got into a big fight with a whole colony of them after Stan fell into their cave and saw them practicing their human disguise, that they got away with just a few bites and scratches. 

Ford wanted to tell Dipper that the supernatural was real, the anomalies he sold to tourists as a hoax were real , but all he had to go on were some bitemarks and the diary of a mad artist. 

And Dipper would probably just blame squirrels for the bitemarks. Just like everyone else always blamed clumsiness for everything else. 

No. Ford couldn't trust Grunkle Dipper, who only Shermie spoke fondly of and no one else in the family had seen or talked about in years. Grunkle Dipper wasn't someone he could trust. No one was.

Except Stan. 

Ford tucked his magnets next to the diary and ran upstairs to join his twin, head spinning with a million questions and a deep, burning surety that he could find the answers himself.

#

Dipper waited for all the lights to go out before he slipped out of the Mystery Shack, a denim jacket thrown over his pajamas as his boots crunched on the dirt, vanishing into the woods under the full moon. 

He hopped down into the gnome caverns, the moss springy under his feet. "Hey, you gnomes! I wanna talk to whoever's in charge!"

Gnomes popped out of every crevice- he nodded once in respect at Schmebulock, who nodded back- and one of them pushed through the gathering crowd until he stood on a rock that put him just at Dipper's knee height. 

"Well- since the old queen got eaten by a badger and we're looking for a new one, I'm currently the one giving orders." He flicked his suspenders with a smile that Dipper wanted to punt. "Name's Jeff. And you're-?"

Dipper lifted his bangs in answer, watching the gnome horde start chattering nervously amongst themselves. Yeah. He wasn't thrilled about his reputation with the secret side of Gravity Falls either. Still- it could be useful. 

"There were two human kids today." Dipper dropped his hair and crossed his arms, cutting in before Jeff could start talking more. "I want everyone in the forest to know not to hurt them. They're my nephews."

"Well- they caused some trouble in our territory, so you see, we had to-"

"No. Don't care, not interested." Dipper reached into his jacket and pulled out his flashlight, brandishing it like a weapon at Jeff, the crystal attached set to 'shrink'.

"Now hold on-"

"Tell everyone in the forest: no one messes with the Pines twins. Or else I start showing real attractions again." Which would tank his profits unless he picked very carefully, and would be more trouble than it was worth, but the forest didn't need to know that.

"No- no, we're all fine and dandy with how things are!" Jeff laughed nervously, waving his hands. "Alright, gnomes! You heard this guy, no one kills the new kids! Someone go tell the manotaurs!"

"You do that." Dipper started walking towards the exit, throwing out one more suggestion for the road. "And don't kidnap anyone this summer, alright? It's seriously messed up when you do that."

Stepping out of the gnome cavern had him drawing his jacket tighter and doing up a few buttons to ward off the feeling of being watched. He could hear the faint rustling behind him of a hundred gnomes rushing off in every direction, the wind catching in the pine needles, and it sounded like an echo, laughter in the back of his head. 

He left the trees and returned to the Shack, past Waddles Jr., and into the gift shop. The boys were- well, a setback, but one he could work around. He just had to keep them alive for the summer and send them home in one piece. Why did he even agree to this? Didn't matter, he did, just had to work with it now.

The vending machine slid open with a hiss. Just one small setback. Mabel would understand. She just had to wait a little longer.

He wasn't going to let the rest of the family ruin things.

[junebugdunes]

candy colored 🍭

[boundbysand]

i can scarce get by

life series (ambiguous, written with secret life in mind) scar character introspection drabble. 731 words. warnings are a bit difficult to word for this- i'd say cw for self loathing/hatred and manipulation.

Scar has never been sure of who he is, but he's more than sure of what he can do. Whether that's a good thing or not is up in the air.

-

Scar's smiles do not meet his eyes.

They rarely do, at least. At this point he's almost never sure if they're real or not in the moment. He realizes, afterward, how much energy it had been taking to paste them on. How much he just wants to sleep now. Sleep doesn't seem to be enough, never will be, but he thinks it's the most he'll get. Anything more is unreasonable to wish for.

He wishes, time and time again, that his cheerfulness could be real. That it didn't feel performative most of the time.

Then he smiles at people again, sharp and with too many teeth, fake fake fake, and doesn't think they deserve his real smile. If they believe him, if they're this easy to trick, then he'd rather keep any genuine joy to himself.

It makes him sick.

Whether what makes him feel ill is other people being so stupid as to so easily believe him or his willingness, his ease in manipulating them, he's not sure. He thinks it might be both. Wonders if it's allowed to be both.

It comes as easy as breathing to him. Weaving a story so convoluted one simply gives up and relents, their head spinning too much to make any sense of the mess of words Scar offered. Sprinkling in little lies to reassure someone. Convincing someone wholeheartedly that what he's doing is right, is good, when he's not sure himself.

He does it to survive, he knows. Everyone manipulates in a death game. Not all of them manipulate outside of them, too, but- well. Not all of them had to do it to survive beforehand either.

He avoids the topic of his days before, both with others and with himself. It's not important, no matter how much it weighs on his shoulders and affects everything he does, his actions, his thoughts, his being as a whole.

If he tells himself it isn't important, it isn't.

He is the way he is now and there's no going back. All he can do now is survive.

So he does. He lies, he fakes cheer, he fakes his personality, he manipulates.

The shame and guilt eat him alive inside, a monster all of his own creation existing low and deep in the pit of his intenstines, devouring him minute by minute, consuming his entire being until Scar isn't sure he's Scar anymore. He is the beast, ugly and horrifying and evil, and he is Scar. They might be the two most opposite creatures alive. They might be the same creature entirely.

It's unclear whether or not the monster was always there, or if Scar created it himself, or if the world's cruel hands placed it, piece by burning piece, inside of Scar from the moment he was born. He knows the answer. He will remain adamant that he did it to himself regardless.

Scar knows he is not to blame. Scar knows he is every bit as ugly and appalling as he thinks he is, and it is his fault.

Scar is contradiction, wrapped up in a fake smile and a crumbling psyche.

He is friendly, self-sacrificing, and joyous.

He is hate-filled and mean, selfish, and miserable.

He puts on a mask, a face others would much prefer to see than the Scar only he knows, at the detriment of himself because he knows he won't be accepted any other way.

It works, too. It works so goddamn well it's sickening.

People like him. People trust him.

It makes him feel powerful, appeased and admired, on top of the world. He thinks it might be all he needs, to feel this way.

It makes him feel deplorable, queasy and ashamed, like the scum of the earth. He wants to claw every inch of skin off of his face with his own bare hands until all that remains is the real him.

Ugly and bloody and dripping red. Angry and envious and selfish.

He smiles, he holds the mask tighter. A private dance he plays with himself every moment of every day, himself and nothing like himself all at the same time.

He wonders if anyone will ever realize the difference. One day, maybe, someone will notice how dull his eyes look when he smiles.

[gothsuguru]

remember when i said i’d do my smut drabbles for Halloween . well i’m a Liar who Lies 🩷

[forgottenarthur]

@forgottensebastian "Please don't do this." Sebastian x Arthur

Flashback

It happened every few years. A son displeased his father and, in penance, that son was hurled into the fighting wherever it was most vicious to sink or to swim. It had all been a mistake, seemingly small, but Roderick perceived it as injurious to himself, for there was no action in the House of Varmont that could truly be measured as weightless. Arthur knew that he was expected by many to die. But he did not mean to lose. He meant to return in triumph. But his mother feared he would not return at all.

He was alone, now, preparing for war, ready to ride in the span of mere moments. His father had sent him away in shame. There was to be no one to see him off.

"Please don't do this," sounded the familiar voice of his brother, coming quickly into the room.

Arthur paused, his hand resting upon the hilt of his longblade. For a moment, they were poised there, caught in the moment. Arthur stood silhouetted against the window at his side, a beam of brilliant light illuminating the gloom, with Sebastian standing behind him, and his sword lying flat upon the table before him: a tableau of heartache and doom thwarted by four words.

Yet, the moment was broken. Arthur bowed his head and, squaring his shoulders, he lifted the blade in one hand, sheathing it at his waist with the other. "What choice do I have?" Slowly, he turned to face Sebastian and, sighing, he clapped his arm. "I'll come back all right," he said. "I always do."

"You can't know that."

Arthur sucked in a breath, inviting air deep into his lungs. "I know this, little brother: I can't do otherwise." He shook his head. "I've already disappointed father enough."

"He'll regret it."

Arthur turned away, laughing as he pulled on his jacket. "He won't. He never does."

"If something happens--"

"Don't." Arthur shook his head. "There's no point." Dawn edged around the distant gleaming mountaintops in shades of violet, and Arthur exhaled slowly. "It's convenient, really," he commented, off-hand, brilliant eyes drinking in the farflung horizon. "Always having a war somewhere to which you can readily send errant sons to fight. I am glad. I'd hate to inconvenience him."

A pause. He closed the shutter with his swordhand, and turned to face his brother once again. "Just," he began, resting his hand upon his shoulder. "Two things, Sebastian: first, learn from my mistakes, won't you? Second...whatever happens--"

"Arthur--"

"Look after our mother and sister, won't you?" He cracked a grin. "Edmund and Guin can look out for themselves. God knows they've enough experience by now, hey?"

"I'll speak to him, Arthur. Mother and I, both. He'll come around."

"Maybe so, but I'll be long gone by then. Don't trouble yourself. I wouldn't have his wrath fall on you, not on my account. Now, you best stay here. It'll go better for you if no one knows we spoke. And father will be watching from the window to ensure no one else sees me off."

"It's cruel--"

Arthur shook his head. "I don't think so. You see, it's intimate: he's seeing me off, isn't he, even if he doesn't wish to."

"You forgive him too easily."

Arthur laughed. "If only it were a family trait. Goodbye, Sebastian. Tell Cassandra I'll bring her something back."

Despite himself, Sebastian chuckled. "Then I know you're coming back, because if you don't, I daresay she'd follow you to the Underworld for whatever you've promised her."

Arthur laughed brightly, pulling his brother into an embrace. "Call it insurance, then, brother. I'll be back before you know it."

[forgottenroderick]

A YEAR IN THE LONG FORGOTTEN REALM roderick's favorite interaction: [ no amount of fame ]

"For Eilionora Stafford to accept you, she needs to feel that she has won. She will agree to marry you if you promise that some of their traditions might be reinstated after your marriage.” He knew that his father would never truly grant this. He despised their culture and religion too much. It was blasphemy in his eyes to leave offerings to anyone else besides his one true god.

But perhaps he might make a promise he never intended to keep. Aside from physically harming her people or her sister, Edmund did not see Eilionora ever relenting to anything less if things stayed as they were. But he also knew that his father would grow impatient with her and that he would rather force her hand than having it willingly given. 

“And what an Emperor gives,” Edmund reminded him, “he can take away.”

[xawkward-ariesx]

Because it hurts

“They’re people?” “They were, until they had all their humanity taken away… All emotions removed.” “Why no emotions?” “Because it hurts.”

She thinks about that sometimes over the years. After everything. After the walls have sealed them universes apart. After she sees the Doctor one last time but only to say goodbye, to tell her that this is the end, that she can never come back. After everyone moves on and carves a space for themselves in this new world that had left a gap just for them.

She thinks about the Doctor stood before a cyberman’s head as he told her, “An old friend of mine. Well, enemy.” She thinks about the way he couldn’t distinguish between the two for a moment. She thinks about the way he’d spilt about old monsters and the world he’d burned to destroy them. She thinks about Sarah-Jane, an old friend he’d never been able to speak of. 

She thinks she understands some of that now. She wonders if he keeps silent about her the way he did Sarah-Jane. Thinks she’d understand that too. She thinks about Sarah-Jane telling her the Doctor had been called home by the Timelords, how she’d never seen him again. She thinks about the way the Doctor never talks about them; talks about the beautiful planet, the trees, the grass and the two suns it used to orbit.

She thinks about the Doctor screaming at the Nestene, trying to bargain with it even after it’s shown itself to be hostile. She thinks about the Doctor and how his pity for the Gelth had made him blind to their intents. She thinks about the way he wears his scars and if she’s one of them now, or if he keeps her hidden away with his memories of people. She wonders if he still lets his pain and his anger fuel his need to save another planet, another people. She wonders if it still burns a hole through his hand the way there’s a burning in the back of her mind.

She thinks she understands him in a way she never could before as she fights to prove him wrong. Words and numbers falling from her lips in a way that reminds her of Jack, remind her of him. Things come to her easier these days, things she’d never understood before when they’d gotten lost in techno babble back before. Before she’d gotten stuck. Before Jack had stayed behind to fix the Earth. Before they’d left him alone, despite their best intentions.

Things slot into place for her now in a way that she doesn’t understand how but comes from the golden, burning place in the back of her mind that she knows shouldn’t exist. Should be locked behind fortified doors. Shouldn’t still be glittering, but hollow and cold. Shouldn’t leak secrets of the universe into her ears. Should leave her clueless and frustrated, grasping at dead ends in a way that’s expected of a girl off a council estate that never finished her A levels. A girl that had followed a stranger to the stars and picked up a few more along the way because she hadn’t understood then; but she’d seen the same lonely shadow in him that she’d felt in herself.

But she understands things now that she shouldn’t. She understands dimensional travel. Understands the cracks in the walls and the scars in the void that never completely heal if you press just right. Understands the physics and theory better than anyone of her time period should, let alone her. Understands why monsters are easier to face than the ones you’ve lost. Understands why there had been locked doors on the TARDIS in the same way she can’t bring herself to decorate the blank room she’s found herself occupying. 

And she wonders if the fire ever burns out for the Doctor in the way the universe feels a little too heavy for her sometimes. She wonders if he sees her in the way she hears his words in her mouth. And the shadows she’d seen him seem heavier in her own eyes these days. She thinks about her mum’s words on that fateful day.

“You even look like him.” “How do you mean? I suppose I do, yeah.” “You've changed so much.” “For the better.”

She thinks about how it had filled her with pride at the time. She thinks about how she’d thought she was fitting into this new world that he’d shown her. How she’d become more than just another nineteen-year-old girl from the Estates. She thinks about how she doesn’t bother to fit into this world. How she doesn’t try to force this world to make space for her where there is none. She thinks about how that sentiment has become even more true in his absence. She does look like him. From the way she carries herself to the way she carries her scars and her secrets, lets them make her someone else.

She thinks about the worlds she’s seen dying as the stars blink out of existence across reality as she fights her way back to him. She thinks about the way she’s let every single one of them harden her when she couldn’t save everyone. She thinks about the nonchalant way the Doctor had spoken of the empty Earth before the sun had swallowed it whole. She thinks she understands how he’d focused on the survival of the species of the planet living amongst the stars instead of fixating on the planet he couldn’t save. She thinks about the lone survivor of a planet with its twin suns and the little blue box that remains its planet’s only reminders of its existence after the universe moved on.

She thinks about all the people they hadn’t been able to save. About how every single one of them had burned deep inside of her, fueling a resolution to do better next time. She thinks about how the first few fires had burned her before she learned how to put up the appropriate armour up. She thinks about the Doctor and his own armour. She wonders what taught him to put walls up between himself and the fires.

But mostly she thinks about the ways the years slip by her unnoticed, despite her mortality and the way she feels as though she’s never getting any closer to what feels just out of reach. And she wonders if it’s the same for him. She wonders if his immortality weighs on him the way her humanity weighs on her. She thinks she understands now the adamant way he’d spoken of humanity and how it hurts, the way there’d been no room for argument. The conviction in his words as a man burned too many times.

[whump-queen]

“You know, I’ve never seen you get pinned in the ring… Now I can see why.”

drew @emmettnet’s Logan and Cassius because I can’t get this moment out of my head

[surunoita]

okay i'm gonna post this in the hopes that tumblr doesn't nuke me for artistic nudity but here's some warmups i did of my character austin (they/them) in the blood moon universe <3 idk what else i could say but blood moon (by @barbwritesstuff ) was and is a huge inspiration to me and i could talk about it for hours so i'll just tell you to go play it :-) <33

[itsahotminuteinbetween]

doodle dump from earlier-learning to draw glitchtrap for my truman show au…

[silverwolf1249]

kryptonians have wings and need them to live au:

Wing au where all kryptonians are born with wings, and can hide or reveal them at will. If they lose their wings, their health deteriorates until they either die from the stress the loss of their wings causes, or they end it themselves.

The Kents are surprised when they find a winged baby in a spaceship crashing in their fields one day, but they love him all the same and name him Clark. They didn't let him out much until he was a bit older and figured out how to hide his wings, it was simply too risky.

As a toddler, Clark's wings were incredibly fluffy and full of down, still growing in. What you could see of his feathers were greyish blues, a rusty tone highlighting the upper parts of his wings. He wasn't able to do much more than flap them about until he turned thirteen, when his adult plumage came in.

That time was absolute hell on all the Kents, his parents not knowing much on how the help the itching and pain Clark dealt with as he molted and his feathers fully grew in. Martha and John poured over multiple books on birds and their wings in hopes that Clark's wings were similar enough for the information to aid them.

Clark had to take an extended leave from school due to an "unfortunate case of pneumonia". It all turned out alright in the end of course, and Martha absolutely cooed at her son's new plumage, vivid dark blue with vibrant red mingling amongst the upper portions of his wings (colors that would later inspire those of his uniform as superman)

Growing up, Clark knew he was different, no one else had wings, and he had been told constantly by his parents to keep his hidden. He learned very early on that it was because he wasn't from earth, but that didn't make his parents consider him their own any less. He later found out about all his other abilities he gained from absorbing the sun's solar energy, but his favorite ability was always the wings he was born with.

Sure, he could fly without them, but why would he? His wings were a part of him from the very beginning, and flying with his wings just felt so much more right than flying without them. When he found the Fortress of Silence, he learned more about his wings from the Jor-el hologram, discovering how important it was to keep them safe. He still decided to keep them out as Superman though, his near invulnerability extending to his wings as well, and he was loathe to fly without them.

Years down the line, and after having been a part of the Justice League for over a year, Superman was suddenly very aware about his wing's vulnerability after another Kryptonite incident with Lex. Superman worried, and ended up confiding in Batman about his concerns. This was Batman after all, he knew all of Kal's other secrets and weaknesses, what was one more? He still didn't know the man's name, but he would trust him with his life, and for now that was enough.

Thankfully, Lex had yet to figure out just how important Clark's wings were to his continued existence, but even if he never learned the truth, any lucky shot to his back could take him out permanently. Batman listened to it all and told him that while he would tell him to put on wing covers to shield them, suddenly having them one day would be incredibly suspicious. There wasn't much they could do other than to make sure Clark's back was always protected.

Of course, this wasn't a long term solution, and it caught up to them not even a few years later. Superman finally got hit with that lucky shot, and Bruce wasn't able to get there in time to shield the other's back. By that point, the core justice league members had learned of Kal's achilles heel, and panicked when they noticed Superman lying on the ground face down, his back torn to shreds and wingless. Batman however, was calm, cold and clinical as he ordered them to bring them to the watchtower infirmary and get a room with two operating tables prepared for surgery.

When Superman, unconscious from the pain, was set up in an operating room, the Justice League looked around, wondering what was next? Only to spy Batman removing the top parts of his armor next to the other operating table. Wondering what the hell was going on, they were absolutely shocked when a pair of wings burst out of Bruce's back, and they were identical to Superman's.

Despite the questions bubbling within them, they soundlessly leave the operating room to let the watchtower's medical team enter and get down to business. Hours after the surgery is over, they visit Bruce to get their answers. He's sitting up in his bed, unable to lie on his back, the two new neatly stitched incisions on his back preventing him from doing so.

Still under the influence of painkillers (not strong enough to cloud his mind of course), he slowly explains. When he learned of Clark's weakness, he did more research into it, using his at the time new connection to the computer in the Fortress of Silence to learn more about Kryptonian biology. He wanted to figure out if there were any ways to prevent Clark's death if he actually lost his wings one day.

Eventually, he did find the solution. On Krypton, wing transfers were rare, but the cases were well documented in the Fortress' database. Whoever sacrificed their wings would die, but so long as the person who had lost their wings received a transplant within 24 hrs, the one who lost their wings would survive with no lasting impact. The wings had to be removed within those 24 hrs as well, or the wings would be rejected, and both participants would die.

And Bruce was the guy with all the contingencies, both for if he would need to take down his allies, and to save them. He sneakily stole a few dna samples from Clark, and did his own research and testing. He eventually managed to replicate Clark's wings, but he knew that unless they were attached to someone, the transplant wouldn't work.

Eventually he made the conclusion that if anyone was to carry the spare pair of wings, it would be him. This was untrodden territory, but thorough testing had shown that Kryptonian dna was compatible with human dna, so at the very least, Bruce wouldn't die if he implanted the wings into himself.

Whether he would die or not if a transplant was required however, was uncertain. While humans didn't need wings to survive, Bruce couldn't be sure how the Kryptonian wings might affect human biology once implanted. Hell, he wasn't even completely sure if the transplant would work. The intermingling of human and Kryptonian dna from the wings could render the wings useless once removed.

There was just no way to tell unless Kal actually needed the transplant, and there was no way Bruce would let that risk fall on anyone else. In the end, it seemed like Bruce's gamble had won, since other than the gashes on his back, there were no other negative effects to his health, and it looked like Kal would make a full recovery as well.

As you can probably imagine, the justice league were not happy with his explanation at all, and neither were his family or Clark when he woke up(Alfred in particular was upset that Bruce had never told anyone what he had done, the batkids were just pissed and terrified for nearly losing their dad and they wouldn't even have known until much later). At the same time however, they understood why Bruce did what he did, self sacrificing idiot that he was. None of them could imagine a Batman without a Superman. Clark though, also couldn't imagine a Superman without a Batman by his side.

They were friends, Clark would even hesitantly call Bruce his best friend, but the incident had changed some things. Clark had always thought that Bruce had reluctantly became friends with him after Clark kept bothering him to be more social when they started the justice league. He knew that Bruce trusted him with his life, he wouldn't have revealed his identity to him otherwise, but the fact that he was willing to die for a chance to save him...Clark had just never saw that happening, until now he supposed.

He just wanted to know why? Why put himself at risk like this when he wasn't even sure he would survive the surgery? When he wasn't even sure if it was possible to transfer the wings to him? So he confronts Bruce one day, practically ambushing the man in the Batcave one night. And Bruce, as emotionally distant and secretive as the man can be, answers honestly, "I care about you." he tells Clark, looking away from the other to hide how vulnerable he felt, "There was no way I was going to let something like this kill you. Not if I had the possibility to prevent it. A chance is greater than none at all."

And suddenly, Clark realizes that he was awfully, terribly, and wholly in love with Bruce. How he had never noticed it before he wasn't sure, but this near death incident had made him reflect on many things, it would of course also make him reflect on his relationship with Bruce as well. And without even thinking about it, he finds himself kissing the other man.

For a second, there's no response, but then Bruce answers in kind. Clark feels his wings, wings that Bruce had risked himself to create and transfer, pop out of his back. They flutter a bit, before wrapping themselves around him and Bruce. And everything feels so, so right, like everything was going to be okay.

It wasn't of course, he and Bruce definitely had to discuss their relationship and how it might affect their current lives, both of them were still recovering from the surgery, and Clark's wings didn't really feel like his just yet, despite looking exactly the same. He was also pretty sure the other Justice League members were going to be ridiculously overprotective over him for a while after being so close to losing him, same with Bruce for being reckless and secretive as always. But for now, he let himself indulge in this one perfect moment.

[1930sdarlin]

HAI MEGS ARE U COOL WITH PPL ROLEPLAYING ON UR BLOG? :3

Hello again, Rainbow (?, may I call you that?),

Yes I'm mostly okay with role-playing on my blog. The usual rules apply to being respectful when it comes to that but! I do have a stipulation.

My personal account (which is this one) is not really much of a role-play blog- being as I'm not technically playing a character.

(My sona is who I'm playing as a lot of the time in roleplays, especially when it comes to Chenya. )

TLDR; I'm fine with a little bit of rp- just not a lot.

[fidgetspringer-art]

The story

Here's a little summary of Martin and Noah's overall history together for those interested!

They meet when Martin finds the mangled wreck of a motorcycle on the side of a road. Black lines of rubber snaking along the asphalt behind it.

Figuring this is the world’s way of making Martin pay it forward after surviving his own accident, he helps Noah to the hospital where he sticks around for a bit and they get to know each other.

When Noah is discharged he’s left stranded with a wrecked bike and nowhere to go, so Martin offers him a room at his farm while his broken wrist heals and while he fixes his bike, in exchange for a helping hand around the farm. Noah accepts and the two of them hit if off a lot better than either of them could have expected.

They spend the first several years knowing each other in what is in a lot of ways a very domestic relationship, while it's also nothing like that at all.

Martin never leaves the homestead for longer than he has to. Only to resupply or to trade produce with a few of his nearest neighbours, who are the closest thing he has to friends.

Meanwhile, Noah comes and goes a lot like a stray cat.

Sometimes he's only gone for a few days, other times he's gone for months. Martin mourns his absence every time he leaves, but suddenly he'll turn up again and it'll be like he never left at all.

Sometimes Noah sticks around long enough that Martin starts to think he might actually stay for good this time. Until he gets the itch again and vanishes like it doesn't rip Martin apart every time.

Sometimes Noah comes home with a gift and a good story. Other times he comes back with a black eye and fresh scars, or hiding bruises that Martin only catches glimpses of in passing.

So while their relationship is very good in a lot of ways, it's flawed in just as many. They're not very good at talking about it. Noah is afraid of getting tied down and Martin is dealing with a lot of internalised homophobia that doesn't let him fully enjoy what they have without a lingering sense of guilt.

They argue a lot at first. Trying to drive each other away while desperately clinging on to what they have.

They're both very imperfect and very lonely people who find a lot of comfort in each other, even if what they have isn't ideal and even if they hurt each other along the way. They love each other like nothing else, but their individual trauma doesn't let them have a truly healthy relationship for a long time.

In the end they keep up this weird sort of orbit around each other for almost 7 years before they finally realise that they need to sort their shit out. Their happy ending is that they talk it through and settle down. Noah moves in permanently, and when he gets the itch to move he either takes a day trip on his own to get his wiggles out, or they take a break from the farm and roadtrip for however long feels right to them.

[whumpshots]

Whump ABC #16